


STRONG LETTER TO FOLLOW.

by westwoodandridingcrops



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Epistolary, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwoodandridingcrops/pseuds/westwoodandridingcrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, a package comes. And that’s odd, no, that’s downright remarkable. He’s been dead for weeks. No one knows where he is. He takes one look at the spidery hand, his name more a slash than a collection of letters.</p><p>Sherlock smiles for the first time since the fall.</p><p>Finally.</p><p>Two months after he dies, Sherlock Holmes receives a package--a phone, a pre-made email account, and the inability not to pick fights on the Internet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE.

TO: virgin221b@gmail.com   7:03 am, 11/08/11

FROM:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com

SUBJECT: Oh, Sherlock

___________________________________________________

 

You still don’t have the measure of me if you think that I believed any of that for one second. If anything, it’s you who might be shocked to hear from me, but you shouldn’t be. You really shouldn’t.

No points for realism. Did you expect me to believe that you wouldn’t go running to Big Brother at the first sign of trouble? Of course you did, and of course Mycroft Holmes moved heaven and earth to make sure his baby brother had a soft place to land.

But I appreciate showmanship, Sherlock, and you get full marks for that. You couldn’t even pretend to go through with it without an audience, and what an audience you had. You have him so well trained to trail after you, nipping at your heels. I could never have put the gun on him anywhere but at the front-row seat to your performance. You could have sent him away for good, you know. You could have bundled him into one of those black sedans at your brother’s beck and call. Why, you could have even let him in on your disappearing trick, but you didn’t. Instead, you chose to make sure that the only person who believed any of it was the person who would grieve you most. I know why you chose to do it this way, Sherlock, but do you? I’m sure you tell yourself that it was for his protection, but deep down, even you have to know better. You wanted him to cry over you, you wanted him to mourn you, you wanted him to feel for you, in the only way he ever will. And that? That is twisted, Sherlock.

Didn’t you ever wonder why you were supposed to jump? Why I didn’t just hand you a gun or feed you a pill? I told you once, killing you would be boring. No, this is just the next chapter in our little story. Except now, you’re alone. No name, no reputation, far from your friend, the Yard, and even your brother’s reach.

This is how I wanted you, Sherlock, and you played along admirably. The clock is still ticking for you, but it doesn’t mean your time’s still not running out.

 

Until next time,

Jim

  
P.S:  The phone is on me. No texts, no calls. Just e-mails. Untraceable, even to Big Brother. I’d tell you to keep it, but we both sort of know you will.  


	2. TWO.

TO:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com                  12:27 pm, 15/08/11  
FROM: virgin221b@gmail.com  
SUBJECT: re:Oh, Sherlock  
___________________________________________________

I’m not sure what you’re hoping to achieve by contacting me. I never imagined you a writer of letters, well, emails I suppose. Of course I’m not dead. Don’t be obtuse.

I suppose you get all the marks for realism then, but none for showmanship. “Thank you. Bless you.” What was that rot? Hardly a convincing performance, just you as a whirling madman. Not at all what I came to see. The gunshot itself was done with some cleverness. Hats off to your snipers (the best money can buy, no doubt.) But, as you said once before, killing me that way would have been “obvious.” It stands to reason that you, then, with your inflated sense of self-worth and importance, wouldn’t be able to tolerate dying a simple death, the kind of death I’d have never left Baker Street to investigate.

You’ve underestimated me, James. It’s a rare slip for you.

You are correct. I am far away from Mycroft, from London, from the Yard, and, yes, from John, but you misunderstand what that means for you. Morals and mores have always been a gentle type of tedium. And now, the few people who have stood before me, restraining me from the worst of myself are gone from me. I was able to compete with you despite their influence, and now? Now, there’s nothing to stop me. You’re a man who ultimately values his own skin, and I’m one with nothing to lose that hasn’t already been lost to me. If I die? Well, what of it? The damage has well and truly been done. I’m already damned, James.

You ask me why I didn’t squirrel John away, why I didn’t let him into the fold. You’re right, part of it is for his protection, but not all. He is safe in London, and though mourning me, he will survive. He may not forgive me, but he will live, and that is a victory. In fact, better he is there. He would not like the man I am about to become. He is brave and willing, but he is not equipped for this fight.

And, make no mistake that’s what it is. It’s not frilly, little games of chance and skill. You have me where you want me, yes, but in the process, you’ve sacrificed all. You’ve given your queen to save your king, but in the process you've still given your queen. Stripped of most of your wealth, all of your influence, you've none of that to hide behind now, and I have nothing to prevent me from hunting you.

I suppose I could threaten you, tell you what manner of torment I have in store for you, but that would be boring and predictable. It doesn’t contribute the sort of terror that will come to grip you as you sleep. It does nothing to build the sense of dread that will prick at your neck and make your palms slick. It doesn’t make you realize every quivering beat of your heart is measured, numbered. I’ve enjoyed our games, James. Truly. You’re quite the best distraction I’ve ever encountered, as much as it pains me to admit it.

But the games are over.

S.H.


	3. THREE.

TO: virgin221b@gmail.com           6:45 am, 16/08/11  
FROM:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com  
SUBJECT: Terrifying  
___________________________________________________

You're very threatening, or at least you'd like to be.

You'd like to believe that you're away from your friends and your family and that makes you scarier. Some darker, edgier side of you that hasn't been revealed until now will show itself and it'll send me running for cover. This new and improved Sherlock coming to get me should put me on my guard.

Please. I guess you've run out of people to impress. It's almost boring enough to make me stop writing you. You don't scare me, Sherlock. You've forgotten. I know you too well for all that.

I didn't spend a holiday in one of your brother's lovely little cells for nothing. He didn't want to at first, he tried, but eventually he caved. You wouldn't believe the amount of detail he was willing to trade for any scraps I could throw his way. That lovely mental image you have of me tossing and turning in terror is sort of hard to take seriously when I think of all the nights you spent crying over your puppy-dog.

So, do. Do show me how big and bad you think you can be, Sherlock. That's the whole reason you're still alive, after all. Impress me. Entertain me.

While you still can.

Jim.

P.S: Speaking of puppy dogs, it's adorable how utterly arrogant you are. You think that because John isn't dead yet, you've won something? Why? I haven’t lost anything but a very disposable part of my web. Have you really not thought that I could just snap my fingers and have John dead by the time you're through reading this?


	4. FOUR.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "See, my father, look at this piece of your robe in my hand! I cut off the corner of your robe but did not kill you. See that there is nothing in my hand to indicate that I am guilty of wrongdoing or rebellion. I have not wronged you, but you are hunting me down to take my life." - 1 Samuel 24:11 (NIV)

TO:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com            4:57 pm, 19/08/11

FROM: virgin221b@gmail.com

SUBJECT: A gift from David

attachment: Saul.jpg

___________________________________________________

I’m beginning to wonder if that bullet wound was as false as I believed it to be. It appears you’re suffering not only from amnesia, but also a sharp decline in intellectual prowess.

Think back, James. Think hard. You, yourself, spent weeks with Mycroft.

Why?

Now, I’m sure from your perspective, it was a glorious bit of cleverness. Mycroft Holmes at your disposal to hand me to you with a big red bow while you traded him only table scraps. People often forget what Mycroft is. It’s easy to do. He’s so stuffy and smarmy, wrapped up in tweed and manners to put the Queen to shame. But, if you’ve discounted him, you do a disservice to him. Mycroft could never stand anything in my life he wasn’t expressly a part of. So, what’s an older sibling to do?  Though, I suppose you’ve little experience with that yourself. Tell me, did anyone in your family ever give you a second look? No, I doubt it. Let me spell it out for you-- he was assessing you.

John is safer than ever now that you’re gone from London. What did you think? Your waning influence from half a world away would somehow be more persuasive than Mycroft sitting at Whitehall? Your snipers have been cut off, shot, bribed, and otherwise done away with before now. Surely you realize that he’s more than capable of doing it again.  And, fairly soon, I believe you’re going to be operating with a personnel shortage. Best not waste precious human resources.

You still fail to realize that the board has shifted, no doubt because of your perpetual arrogance. How strange it feels to be on the other side of that particular observation. You are no longer pursuing me. It is you who is on the run now. My brother once told me that my obsessions, my fixations would be a hinderance, but now I, as ever, disagree wholeheartedly. You finally got what you always wanted, James-- my utter and undivided attention. And, yet, I fear… or perhaps hope--I have yet to decide-- that you will snap under its weight.

 

S.H.

P.S.- I do hope you enjoy the attachment to this correspondence. I wonder how many people you contemplated killing when you realized a hole had been cut from one of your beloved suits. You wanted a manifestation of what I could do, there it is. I came this close to you, watched you sleep.  It would have been an ideal time to slit your throat. But, it’s not yet time, James. Later. Not yet.  

 

 

 


	5. FIVE.

TO: virgin221b@gmail.com                      9:22 am, 20/08/11

FROM:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com

SUBJECT: Good show

___________________________________________________

What are the things near and dear to Sherlock Holmes’s heart?  He would have you believe that there aren’t any, that he doesn’t have one. But that’s just him trying on his brother’s suits and playing dress up. Let’s see:

  1. Melodrama

  2. Proving how clever he thinks he is

  3. A surprisingly long list of people




He would stick his nose in what is none of his business and he would completely ignore that he lives in a glass house, and he shouldn’t go lobbing bricks.

I bet you giggled about how clever you were as you took that picture. I bet you think it proves something about how close you can get to me, and I bet you think that now that you’ve repeated yourself ad nauseam about it and pulled off this little parlor trick, I’ll finally….what? Admit that I should be scared of you?

No, Sherlock. You forgot how we play, you forgot how we always play. I’ve been dancing just out your reach since I was twelve. And do you know what I’ve learned since then about you, aside from the aforementioned list?

Your tricks never change, Sherlock.  

All this time, and you’re still the sulky little brat trying to kick up a fuss big enough to make people listen. My bag of tricks, though. It only gets bigger and better.  You can get close enough to cut holes in my clothes, but you’ve forgotten, that means you have to get close, too.

I will admit, though. That was entertaining. One good turn deserves another.

You’re going to love what happens next, Sherlock.

 

Jim

 

 


	6. SIX.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Follow us on Tumblr!](http://westwood-and-ridingcrops.tumblr.com/)

TO:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com                    7:29 pm, 23/08/11

FROM: virgin221b@gmail.com

SUBJECT: Naturally...

___________________________________________________

Our games are irrelevant, James. I’ve told you that before. Nothing you’ve known up to now is really going to help you now. And please do stop carting out Carl Powers like his murder was the crime of the century. You were lucky that both of our ages protected you and that no one in the Eighties much bothered with high-powered forensics. It was the first in an assuredly long line of risks. That one, granted, paid off for you, but you will find that other, more recent risks are less likely to bring the same return.

You didn’t know I existed at 12. Don’t pretend that this is your life’s mission, though it truly has been your life’s obsession. What is the one thing near and dear to Jim Moriarty’s heart?

Simple:

  1. Sherlock Holmes




End of list.

It’s the only thing potent enough to lure you out and take such a risk, the only thing to coax the spider from the shadows. For instance, sending Sherlock Holmes a pre-programmed phone that he can only use to contact you. Why do it? Was it to gloat you were alive? A simple message could have done that just as well. Was it because you were bored? No, I don’t think you’ve got much time for being bored anymore. Your emails come early in the day. Always early. Your days are long. No, it’s because for all your complaining, you miss the melodrama and you miss the performance. “You’re me,” you said. I wouldn’t go that far, but the similarities are somewhat striking.

I have to say, I’ve no idea what you meant by another “good turn,” because I most ardently hope it wasn’t what I was presented with. The Guō family won’t be bothering anyone anymore. It certainly must rile for you to forfeit such a pivotal part of your remaining empire, and it truly was child’s play, James. I must admit I expected better from you, even if you’ve not got the entirety of your big, bad bag of tricks.

Until the next time, I look forward to the next of your “threats.” 

S.H.

 

 


	7. SEVEN.

TO: virgin221b@gmail.com                             5:45 am, 24/08/11

FROM:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com

SUBJECT:  Better show

___________________________________________________

God, but you are self-centered.

Yes, Sherlock, that whole Carl business wasn’t a big deal to you, mostly because I got utterly away with it while you were nothing but one of many spectators. It was my first in a line of many triumphs, but it was only you being largely irrelevant  as usual. So, no, you wouldn’t think it was anything special, at all, would you?

Don’t misunderstand, sometimes you do help to pass the time. I did miss the melodrama somewhat,  it does break up tedious days. That little suit incident, for one thing. Or, for another, your constant e-mails. Of course, you would take my giving you the phone to mean that I’m just another fan, hanging on your every word. One of your entourage, waiting to orbit around you.

(Like the Earth orbits the Sun.)

It doesn’t occur to an egotist like you, that you didn’t have to respond. You could have easily tossed this phone into the nearest bin. But you’re writing to me, sending me messages, jumping to get me to play with you. The tables have turned fantastically. Mostly, I think because that aforementioned retinue is all gone and Heaven knows you can't stand being on your own.

Left to your own devices, you even start believing that  when I get up in the morning is to do with  you somehow. You didn't think that maybe I'm just a grown-up? Maybe the strung-out-uni-student lifestyle just isn't for me? The similarities are striking, between you and me. But I shudder to think what I'd have turned out like if I'd been a pampered little hothouse flower. It's the only thing that makes me shudder, in fact.

That's not to say you don't have your uses, though. I'm utterly thrilled that the Guo family won't be an issue anymore. I'm sure you heard most of my business here was conducted through the Guo. After all, that was my design. In fact, they are not consulting with me or working for me or anything to do with me. They are, however, one of the many families I was lucratively consulted about eliminating.  

I told my client, I said, "Don't trouble yourself. I'll put my very best on it."

Love,

Jim

 

 


	8. EIGHT.

TO: virgin221b@gmail.com                        12:45 am, 01/09/11

FROM:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com

SUBJECT:  re:Better show

___________________________________________________

Why, Sherlock, it’s been days since you last wrote me.

There’s not something upsetting you, is there?

You’re not sulking about how all your cleverness, all your work, all your fancy maneuvering is still so predictable I could, in essence, use you as a contractor, are you?

You’d think you’d be used to it by now.

Rage, rage, Sherlock. It’ll all be so boring if you insist on going gently into that

 

Good night,

Jim


	9. NINE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, we're finally getting into the plot of the story. Over the next two years, Sherlock and Jim will travel the world, often in war-torn and/or impoverished nations as they spiral closer and closer to one another. 
> 
> Pretty soon, we're going to begin integrating news stories following our boys' exploits around the globe, and in some instances, news broadcast transcriptions, and possibly social media postings. 
> 
> As we mention these countries, linked in every chapter will be a collection of humanitarian aid sites related to those countries. Please, read their stories, and donate if you can. 
> 
> This week, we're in Tibet. Our first aid organization is the [Tibet Fund Program,](http://www.tibetfund.org/prog_human.html) which assists Tibetans travel, often over the Himalayan Mountains, to escape the rule of Tibet by China.

TO:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com 7:29 pm, 10/09/11  
FROM: virgin221b@gmail.com  
SUBJECT: The Best…   
______________________

… is just now happening. I do so wish, not for the first time, that I were a fly on your wall. It would have been exquisite to watch you turn all those shades of puce and violet. 

It was clever, James, hiding all those valuables in Tibet. The monasteries have already bled the people dry, and as the last bit of mockery, those bright orange robes were used to casually hide an interloper. Just how much business were you running in and out of there? It's not a dangerous collapse in your web, but I'm sure the slash to your profits will be felt. Most sharply, no doubt, by your Chinese clients. And, they had been so pleased with you... There is a Chinese proverb that states, in short, that one should never be quick to label a change in circumstance as one of good or bad fortune. I do hope they're acquainted. 

You were much of a chess player, were you? Or perhaps, you are too much of one. It is, strangely, a trait you share with John. He always assumes people meet him on fair footing. You assume the same but think yourself clever enough to manipulate anything to your own advantage. If I am only correct in the dismantling of your business half of the time (which you must admit is being quite generous to my margin of error), I am still correct 50% of the time. When I lose, I lose nothing but pride, but every time I win, you lose another thread, another potential out.

Of course you're bored. You've always been bored. It always struck me as odd, anyway. Why me? If you really were this man of power you so desperately want to project yourself as, you'd never be fascinated with me. Everything, all things, would only be useful to lead you back to Mycroft. The only reason you were not the most powerful man in London was him, after all. If you are really interested in business and shifts in power, he would be your focus. Irene, for all the distraction I provided her, was only ever there for him. But you... Not once. Not once has it been about him. You say I'm playing in my brother's suits. Perhaps, I am not the only one. Your success is only collateral to your main goal--not being bored. Boredom is something Mycroft certainly can't help you with, Mycroft doesn't play games. I do. And, I assert that I am the sun around which you rotate:

Premise one: James Moriarty's focus is not being bored.

Premise two: The only thing that is not boring is Sherlock Holmes

Conclusion: In order for James Moriarty to escape boredom, his focus must be Sherlock Holmes, his very own little, hothouse flower. 

You messaged me. You found me. You sent this contraption to me. I have responded because it is advantageous for me to do so. My plans are transparent. I've told you from the first what I intend to do. The secret is well and truly out. But, every time you write me, you take the risk of exposing just a bit more that I might use to achieve my purpose. It is, again, at worst, a net-zero for me. You, on the other hand, stand to lose everything.

You're not another adoring fan. You're not part of my entourage, devoted to keeping me caged. No, James. You're not even an enemy. You're the closest thing I'm ever going to have to a lover. Haven’t you realized that by now?

S.H.


	10. TEN.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Here's your  
> [Donation site](http://www.tibetoralhistory.org/donate.html) for this chapter. 
> 
> The Tibet Oral History Project is a project begun by Marcella Adamski in 2003 at the direction of the Dalai Lama, who urged for the recording of Tibetan history as recounted by Tibetan elders. This project centers around the recording of elderly Tibetan refugees to preserve their oral history and culture.

TO: virgin221b@gmail.com                            5:57 am, 11/09/11

FROM:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com

SUBJECT: Re: Even a broken clock….

___________________________________________________

Well, obviously. Your premises are faulty, but you’ve accidentally stumbled onto the right conclusion.

And you always are so slow to come to this sort of conclusion. Give you a puzzle and off you go being impressive. If it’s a matter of you knowing anything about yourself, though? It’s almost pitiful how lost you are.

You’re still in that phase where you say things to grown-ups for shock value without really understanding what they mean, aren’t you? Like when you first let your brother catch you shooting up, or whenever you decided that it would make you seem edgier to call yourself a sociopath?

You’d be scared if you understood. Paralyzingly terrified of what it would mean about you and what it would mean about this little game that we’re playing.  It would mean things about you that your brother and your friends at the Yard would rather not know about you. It would mean things that would drive John to distraction.

(maybe even drive him to drink?)

That’s how I know that you’re all talk, Sherlock. You left London and you think it means that you’re unleashed, somehow. Truth is, you’re no good at being ‘on the side of the angels,’ because you’re not one, as I recall. But, you’re too soft to be any good at playing on this side. You can annoy me with the occasional mystery you happen to solve every so often, but you can’t ever win at this because, in fact,  you’ve already lost.

Think about it.

I’ll help you.

You’re proud of how you wormed into Tibet? Good on you.

Now, let’s see you get out.

 

Best wishes,

Jim


	11. ELEVEN.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last relief organization for Tibet is [International Campaign for Tibet.](http://www.savetibet.org/about-ict/our-mission/) This organization focuses on the human rights and democratic rights of the people of Tibet. They have offices in Washington D.C., as well as Europe and India. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter. :)

TO:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com                                      3:04 AM, 21/10/11

FROM: virgin221b@gmail.com

SUBJECT: Hickory, Dickory, Dock…

______________________

Your border guards were rather something, I’ll admit. But, you as well as most people know that money eventually talks. Find the weakest link in the chain, offer him some recently purloined goods, courtesy of one James Moriarty, and he’ll guide you out of the mountains.  

Is this the part where I am supposed to ask you to do it for me, James? The part where I ask you to split me open, dissect me like I dissect others, gasp theatrically when you say things just. for. shock. value? What an absurd thing for you to level against me, by the way. You seek my attention like a starving dog searches for table scraps. But, I digress. I won’t give you that satisfaction. Not because of some misguided, childish sulk, but rather because I don’t need you, or anyone else for that matter, to tell me anything about myself. It’s irrelevant information, and does little to surprise me.

I am, however, intrigued at your later conclusion. I have lost? By what standard? When we were younger, as shocks precisely no one, Mycroft was utterly taken by military strategy. A mention of another time period or another country was more than enough to encourage him to practice at his now well worn role as pontificating windbag. Lectures on The Art of War, discussions of Napoleon’s innovations to ground warfare, one-sided debates on the ‘colonials’ and their much touted Civil War. It was, as you can imagine, quite honestly, the most impossibly boring thing I have ever encountered. And yet…

We’re playing a war of attrition, James. I will hound you. I will outlast you.

  
S.H.  


	12. TWELVE.

TO: virgin221b@gmail.com5:57 am, 21/10/11

FROM:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com

SUBJECT: Re: Weather is beautiful, wish you were here

______________________________________________________

So, you’re not interested in my explaining why you’d lose but you are interested in my explaining how you’ve lost?

Well, that little contradiction of yours sums up it better than I ever could have. I wanted you to come out and play, so I called you and you came. I wanted you to leave your dearly beloved, and you did. You interpret it as vying for your attention, but it’s not. I just do whatever it is I want to do. Now, I want to bring you out into the wide world and watch you lose monumentally.  I’m allowed to level whatever accusation I want at you because I’m not desperately invested in seeming like a paragon of reasoning. I can beat you at that game easily and still do and say whatever suits me.

As to how you’re losing, I’d much rather let you wait so that one day you can look around yourself and realize exactly how you lost. File this away in your mind palace, then. It will come in handy later.

Funny you should call this a war of attrition, though, considering the amount of time it’s been since your last letter. I imagine you walked most of the way, but found yourself begging for a ride from more than one trucker.  I imagine you were hungrier than you’ve ever been in your life. It’s not much fun to starve if John or Mrs. H aren’t there to plead with you to look after yourself, is it?

Did you ever think you were cold and miserable on those nights spend coming down from a particularly impressive high? Or, when your pontificating windbag of a brother made you come clean? Oh, but I bet it wasn’t anything at all like your scenic hike.

No, if I had to take a page out of your book, I’d say that you can probably count more of your ribs now, and not in that ‘heroin chic’ sort of way where you still get to be pretty. All that porcelain skin has gone red and raw from the cold by now and even those luscious lips of yours have peeled and cracked, I’d put money on it.

But by all means, continue winning your war of attrition, Sherlock. It is, after all, only just starting.

  
Jim


	13. THIRTEEN.

TO:011010010110111101110101@gmail.com                                               6:49 PM, 23/10/11

FROM: virgin221b@gmail.com

SUBJECT: Oh, I'm sure you do....

__________________________________________________

But, that’s just it isn’t it? You are vying for my attention. Of course, I was already pursuing you, but that couldn’t ever be nearly enough. You needed to tell me that you knew I was. It’s so much easier here, isn’t it? Without my “dearly beloved”? My point is not that you don’t do anything other than what you wish to, but rather that what you wish to do always seems to incorporate me. It is that proclivity that has been and will always be your weakest spot.

Tell me, if I was stupid enough to tell you where I was, would you come? Of course, you’d make a show of how ‘ordinary’ and ‘predictable’ it was, but could you honestly resist temptation? Could you? Or would my offer stay there, sitting in the front of your mind, even when you tried to sleep, tried to negotiate another deal? Would it finally roar so loud in your head that there would be no other choice than to succumb? You spend your life as the Spider, does it bother you to instead be a moth to a flame? Perhaps a spider in the hand of an angry God? And, I am so very angry, James.

Your mouth is nearly watering with the promise of such a thing. But not yet. Not nearly yet.

I did not particularly enjoy the scenic trip out of Tibet, no, but it’s hardly as bad as all that. It took time, but, I think, time well spent. You’ll see what what I mean soon enough. I will continue to win, James. As I have always managed to do so regardless.

I do hope your relative comfort is a decent consolation prize. Though, soon, it too will be gone from you.

S.H.

P.S. - You are, as always, overly dramatic and wrong. I’m still quite pretty.

 

 


End file.
